


Sealed

by Flashyfirebird



Series: The road to happiness has many potholes [2]
Category: InuYasha - A Feudal Fairy Tale, 半妖の夜叉姫 | Hanyou no Yashahime | Yashahime: Princess Half-Demon (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Death, Demon Blood, Demon Powers, Drama, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Insomnia, Memory Loss, Youkai
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-14 01:00:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28787592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flashyfirebird/pseuds/Flashyfirebird
Summary: She is Setsuna of nowhere, of no one, of nothing.She is also a murderer.[In which a young Setsuna loses her memories and has her first brush with her demon side. A tale in two parts. Compatible with Yashahime Episode 15.]
Relationships: Hisui & Setsuna (Hanyou no Yashahime)
Series: The road to happiness has many potholes [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2122599
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23





	1. Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is my attempt to explain the circumstances behind Miroku sealing Setsuna's powers and her adjustment to the taijiya village. For the purposes of this fic, I'm assuming Sesshomaru had some role in raising Setsuna, but she cannot remember him properly due to the dream butterfly. This story may not age well. 😂
> 
> Disclaimer: Inu-Yasha and Yashahime do not belong to me.

It's the bear youkai that sets her off.

It must have sniffed her out. Setsuna doesn't know how it found her. In fact, she doesn't know much of anything at all—she's been confused since that morning when she found herself alone in the forest with no memories, with nothing save her mokomoko, her kimono, and a single note, written in a messy scrawl that might be her own.

"Your task," says the note, "is to go to the village of the demon slayers. This is a rite of courage and cowardice."

She doesn't know what the note is talking about, or where this village is. All she knows is that she's alive and adrift, scrabbling for scraps of memory that float uselessly out of reach. She knows who she is (Setsuna, a half-demon) she knows her age (ten), she knows how to walk through the forest not making a sound, how to run, how to track, how to hunt—but beyond that there's a gaping hole, an aching void where other things should be, but aren’t. If she's somebody, if she belongs to somebody, she doesn't know who.

A part of her wants to crouch, to weep, to hug herself and shiver, but she knows she can't, somehow she knows—as if someone has pressed it upon her—that it would not be honorable, that this is not something Setsuna the half-demon would do.

So she stands, ramrod-straight, and she sets her jaw and walks, clutching the mokomoko tight around her shoulders.

She's only been walking a few hours when the bear youkai finds her.

-v-

He's not a big demon, not by bear youkai standards, but she's only ten, a half-demon alone in the forest with no weapon save her claws and her teeth. He barrels toward her, cackling, saliva pouring down hideous canines to drip at her feet.

"Tasty! Don't run! I've never drunk the blood of a half-demon before!"

_ Peril _ .

She darts aside as he lunges at her, but the youkai is faster. A slash of his paw and she goes flying; she crashes to the ground, the mokomoko padding her fall, scrambles up again only to get caught by another sideswipe of the bear's great claws. In some distant corner of her mind she thinks,  _ What a shameful way to die, attacked by a mediocre bear youkai without even landing a blow; you are better than this; you should be better. _ She doesn't know where this thought comes from, and she doesn't have time to ponder—he comes at her again, howling and snarling, splattering her with saliva, she leaps to avoid it, slips, falls. There's a crack, a splintering, an overpowering, terrible pain—

The world turns red.

-v-

Her blood burns.

The bear youkai is dead, piles of flesh at her feet, and her blood is burning her alive and it's all she can do not to snarl. She slashes, overtaken by instinct, she rips and tears and gouges the bear youkai's flesh with her claws until it's barely recognizable that he once was living at all. It's still not enough; she needs more—she wants more—

A red mist seeps across her vision; a green mist shrouds her claws. They're sharper than they were before, narrowed to points at the tips; purple lines claw up her arm, jagged streaks.

She runs.

She flees into the woods, away from the bear demon, away from the sick ugly scent. Her feet fly over roots, over logs, fast, faster than she's ever run in her life, until the ground is a blur, the leaves and puddles and grass are streaks in her vision.

If she runs fast enough (it's small, the part of her mind that's still Setsuna—tiny but still self-aware), if she runs  _ fast enough, _ perhaps she can outrun the burning in her blood, perhaps she can flee the red mist in her vision—perhaps, perhaps, perhaps—

-v-

The first human she kills is a boy.

He's on the outskirts of a village, trudging across a barren field, a bundle of greens beneath his arm. No older than twelve, he gapes at her, his skin bone-white beneath his freckles, a scream on his lips.

She slashes his neck with her poisoned claws, sees his eyes widen in horror, watches the blood pool beneath his body, red—red—red—

She lurches backward, flicks away the blood that splatters her claws, draws her lips back in a snarl. Her blood is still on fire, every inch of her burning, she is no longer Setsuna, not even a little bit, she is something  _ else _ , something  _ mad _ , something  _ terrible _ —

A man runs toward her, shouting, screaming and furious. She lunges toward him, slices him too. More shouts, more cries. She charges forward, unheeding, thinking only of blood and flesh and death.

An arrow thuds into her side. She screams, a high wild cry, her vision blurring, whirls around and slashes at a villager trying to sneak up on her from behind. A net crashes down on her—she cuts through it with a streak of claws, but her strength is leaving her; there is a terrible, blinding pain in her side, and all around is  _ red _ —

"Wait," calls a voice, but she pays it no heed, and nor do the villagers. They charge toward her. 

The next instant, they fall upon her, shouting and cursing, beating her with pitchforks. A blow crashes down on her wrist, and another on her back.

She blacks out.

It is probably a mercy.

-v-

When she wakes, she is Setsuna again, and a man is watching her.

She sits up slowly. Her mouth feels as though it is lined with fur, like she hasn't drunk in days. Her head pounds. Blood cakes her claws, which have returned to their normal length and shape; the purple lines along her arms have vanished.

She glances down, flinches. Her kimono is torn, stained with blood, the mokomoko splattered with it. Someone has packed her wounds with moss and laid makeshift bandages across them. Taped over the top of the bandages are scrolls with unfamiliar symbols. Warily, Setsuna studies the scrolls, gives them a small prod. 

Nothing happens.

Her eyes dart back up to the man. Watching. 

He watches her back, seeming unalarmed by her scrutiny.

Setsuna’s claws bite her palms. The silence stretches, until at last she can't take it anymore. "Are you going to kill me?" 

She hates how her voice trembles, how she can’t stop it from shaking.

The man shakes his head. His expression is kind, but also unsettled, his scent fully human. Setsuna's eyes pause, arrested by a gold staff lying crosswise on his lap.

He tracks her gaze. "I am a monk, yes." His voice is wry. "My name is Miroku. Will you tell me your name?"

She looks around, realizes they are in a forest again, and the village is nowhere in sight. A fire crackles nearby. By the lengthening shadows, it’s almost evening. Her eyes dart toward the forest; it would be easy to run, to escape into the shadows. But what then? She scents the air, expecting more villagers, expecting an ambush, but they're alone.

She could run. Flee.

As she wavers, torn with indecision, Miroku twists the spit on the fire. The smell of meat fills the air. Setsuna swallows.

"I told the villagers you were possessed by a demon, and I exorcised it, and you were no longer a threat." He adds another stick to the fire, frowning. "You are lucky that your natural form looks human. I believe they were convinced. But I did not think it was safe to stay in the village, not after… the fight, so I brought you here instead. My home is a village away; otherwise I would have brought you there."

Memories prick at her—the bear youkai—red swallowing her… and then…

_ And then. _

"The boy," she says, suddenly sick. "The villagers…"

Miroku bows his head. 

Setsuna shivers, presses herself deeper into the earth. She might know very little, might remember even less, but she knows she's done is a terrible thing. Something sickening, something unforgivable. She is half human, and now she has killed a human; he's dead, and he's not coming back. Perhaps she has killed multiple people; she does not remember much—the fight's all a blur.

Wind shifts the trees as the sun sinks below the horizon; Miroku pulls the meat off the fire and offers her a skewer. She lifts it to her mouth, gulps it down.

"I had a friend," Miroku says, into the quiet. "A very dear friend. He was a half-demon, like you are. Sometimes, he would lose control of himself as you did, usually after being injured severely. He was much older than you, but he still could not control it. It seems to be a… thing that happens, when half-demons are injured; your demon side takes full control, to the point where you can’t think. It's not your fault." 

Setsuna nods, not knowing what to say to this. The memories still press in on her, raw and red and terrible. She suddenly wishes she hadn’t scarfed the rabbit. She worries that she might be sick. It wouldn’t be honorable to throw up in front of a stranger; she mustn’t do it. 

Her stomach roils. 

"What happened to you?" says Miroku. "What prompted you to take demon form? It must have been something bad; the stains on your kimono aren't all from the village. You fought with a demon."

She swallows down her urge to retch, tries to sit up straighter; it is not proper to cower on the ground; that is not who she is.

Whoever she is.

"Yes," she says stiffly. "A bear youkai attacked me. It was very strong."

"Did… no one come to save you?"

"Who would come to save me?"

"A… parent?" Miroku says delicately. "A guardian?"

She shakes her head. "I don't... think I have one of those." 

Even as she says it, she knows this is wrong; something brushes across her memory—deep, a voice she trusts.  _ Sit up straight, Setsuna. Sit with pride. Do not falter. _

The memory deserts her the moment she tries to snatch at it, almost as if it were never there to begin with. Setsuna blinks and stares at the fire. 

At least her stomach has stopped roiling.

The monk looks troubled, though she can't imagine why. She almost asks him if he knows who she is, but that's ridiculous. He's just a random human, a monk she met in the village. How could he know where she came from?

(And perhaps, she realizes much, much later, perhaps it's the magic, the magic of the dream butterfly, that leads her not to question things too much, not to probe, not to pry. Because if she were to regain her memories all would be lost; she can't know.)

"You still haven't told me your name," says Miroku.

She hesitates, but he's been nothing but kind to her so far, given her meat, healed her wounds. "My name is Setsuna," she says. "I seek the demon-slayer's village."

"Why?"

"It is a right," she says, testing the words on her tongue, "of courage and of cowardice."

He still looks troubled, but he nods; perhaps monks have something similar; perhaps he's run across enough demons to have heard of this before. "I can lead you to the demon village," he says. "I know it well. But before I take you there, may I suggest something?"

"What?"

"Your demon powers," says Miroku. "I have friends at the village, and I would… rest easier if I could ensure that you don't lose control like that again."

Setsuna tenses.

"If I wanted to hurt you, I would have done so while you were passed out from your wounds," Miroku points out. "I want to help." 

Should she trust him? She wants to trust him. But she's alone, blood-splattered, injured in the forest, and trusting anyone she's known less than an hour might be a stupid thing. Something she might get reprimanded for.

_ Reprimanded _ . By who?

She doesn't know. 

Sstsuna shivers. The skewer is gone, bare of meat—she sets it down. If Miroku wanted to kill her, he wouldn't have fed her. If he wanted to kill her, he wouldn't be giving her a choice. 

If she doesn’t let him seal her...

Her stomach writhes again; she tries to press it back, how the boy looked when she bore down on him, how her claws cut through his skin—

"It doesn't have to be now," Miroku says kindly. "Perhaps tomorrow, on the road, after you've rested some more."

She shakes her head.  _ No, _ she thinks _ ,  _ terror clawing her insides, _ no, no, I have to be sealed. _

"Is it going to hurt?" 

She wishes her voice didn't sound scared, didn't sound like a child trying to sound like an adult.

"It shouldn't," says Miroku.

"Very well then.” She raises her chin, trying to look proud, trying not to show fear. “Do what you have to do."

She shakes her arms out when he's done with the spell, trying to find some difference in herself, but it doesn't feel any different; she still feels like Setsuna, like a half-demon. 

(Like a half-demon who's  killed.)

Miroku watches her with amusement tinged with worry, then tells her to get some sleep, that they are safe—he will keep watch, and even if he dozes off, he's put scrolls around their camp to warn them of danger. 

It turns out the scrolls are unnecessary.

That night, Setsuna learns she can't sleep. 


	2. Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: I decided to age Hisui down in this story to make things less weird when I decide to pair him with Setsuna in later oneshots (heh!). He is now 12, and she is 10. Let’s face it, he seems about the girls’ age in the show. 

They arrive in the taijiya village two days later. It's an unremarkable journey, practically peaceful—or it would be, were Setsuna not still adjusting to the forest, to the monk, to the lack of sleep. Her dress no longer reeks of blood, and the mokomoko has been doused in the river until every last speck of blood was rinsed clean. Still, Setsuna feels odd. She ought to be tired, she ought to be sick; but her wounds have all healed, and her body acts as though she's fully rested.

The nights though — the nights have been tedious — tedious and terrible and drenched with poisoned thoughts. She doesn’t dream, so she cannot have nightmares, but she is still all alone with her thoughts. Somehow —somehow that is worse than if night terrors woke her screaming. She has time to play on repeat everything that happened in the village. Hours and hours with nothing but the moon and the stars and the soft croon of owls for company.

"This is Kohaku," says Miroku. "He'll be your trainer in the village."

Belatedly, Setsuna glances up and then bows. The new man is tall, slightly younger than Miroku, with a serious face that breaks into a gentle smile when he sees her. She can't help but stare at his armor — she's sure she's never seen anything like it in her life — and at his scar, a jagged line across his nose.*

Kohaku smiles, seemingly unperturbed by her staring. Setsuna bows again. She glances at Miroku, uncertain.

"Go to Kaede's house," says Miroku kindly. "It's the one all the way down the road. She'll get you fresh clothes to wear. I want to talk to Kohaku a moment."

-v-

Setsuna trains. She trains with Kohaku and the other taijiya, she practices by herself with her naginata, and when she cannot lift a staff because her arms feel about to give out, she runs through the forest until she's exhausted, only stopping when she can't draw breath. The more hours she spends training, the more exhausted it makes her, the easier it is to forget.

Forget the boy she killed.

Forget the villagers trying to kill her.

Sometimes she catches Kohaku watching her, his expression perturbed. Perhaps he spies her walking at night, perhaps he notes the hollowness to her eyes, the thinness to her cheeks. He visits Kaede one day, and thereafter, the old woman piles more food in front of Setsuna than ever before. "If ye can't sleep, lass, at least ye must eat," she growls. "Ye must eat more than most people, to make up for not sleeping."

Kohaku asks her sometimes, tactfully, about her parentage, as though he hopes to draw out answers.

"I don't know my parents," she tells him each time. "I don't remember."

"Do you want to know about them?"

Each time he asks, it's like a shutter comes down over Setsuna's mind; she wants to know--of course she wants to know--but what comes out of her mouth instead is:

"Later. Right now I wish to practice."

It is only later, when Kohaku is gone, that she wonders why she answers in this way.**

-v-

Hisui arrives in the village later that spring.

He's quiet at first, with an intensity she finds oddly soothing. Perhaps it reminds her of something in her past. He's kind to her despite their age difference, and he practices hard, just like her. 

Somehow, Setsuna doesn't make the connection about him being Miroku's son. He doesn’t talk about his father, barely says anything about his family at all, and that first month there, he smiles very little. 

It’s only when she overhears Kohaku and Kaede talking one day, about how there was a terrible tragedy in Hisui’s family, that she starts to think about why Hisui is so quiet, why his eyes look so sad.

A part of her wants to ask him about it, but she doesn't know what to say. And really, it's none of her business. Her business is to fight and train and take down demons. She doesn't need to concern herself with the lives of the other villagers. They're not like her, and she's not like them, and it's best for everyone to leave well enough alone—

Except for some strange reason, Hisui seems to have taken a liking to her.

The others don't know what to make of her. They give her a wide berth. She hears them whispering sometimes, when they think she can't hear.  _ Hanyou. Demon.  _ They fear her. 

Not Hisui. Between his advantage in age and height and Setsuna's hanyou strength, they're fairly well-matched. Kohaku pairs them together for practice, and he sends them into the forest together to collect the herbs they use to make demon-repellants and medicines. Hisui takes their new partnership in stride. He offers her berries from his lunch—seeming unperturbed when she refuses—and he makes conversation when they’re together, with a thoughtless sort of friendliness that makes her feel ashamed. _Do you like this food or that food?_ _Uncle Kohaku said he’s never seen someone learn a naginata as fast as you have._ _I hope we'll find some herbs in this part of the forest._ _Do you like it, in the taijiya village?_

"I don't dislike it or like it. I don't know anything else." Her answers feel stilted, stiff—she's sure they're not what he wants to hear, but she can't think how else to respond. 

“How long will you stay here?” he asks. 

“Until I know enough.” 

“And then you’ll leave the village?”

“Yes.”

“I also need to learn,” he says, a flicker of darkness beneath his tone, “how to be a great demon slayer.” 

-v-

She learns it was his older sister who died. Killed a few months ago by a male demon rampaging his home. 

She doesn’t learn the name of the demon—that isn’t important. The important part is that the demon wasn’t her. 

_ It might have been you, _ taunts the voice in her brain, the one that haunts her at night when the others are sleeping.  _ You just got lucky. _

The air feels like ice in her lungs, the wind seems to rush in her ears. 

_ It could have been you. _

-v-

She doesn’t sleep, so she doesn’t have nightmares.

But she has visions, which are worse. 

When she stares into the water, she sees herself with red eyes, running rampant, hot blood on her claws. 

She sees the village boy's face—the last thing she remembers before she went completely  _ youkai _ —it will always be embedded in her memories. She sees his eyes, wide with terror, the freckles dusting across his nose, the way his mouth has gone wide with fear and terror. In his eyes, a glimmer of scarlet, the red of her bloodlust reflected back at her.

Sometimes, when she's staring into the water, trying to block out the rushing in her ears, sometimes the village boy's face morphs and twists, eyes no longer brown but gray, forehead elongating, until it's not some nameless village boy she's staring at, but Hisui, staring up at her with terror and a hardening resolve—

—as her claws shove a path through his neck.

-v-

“Are you okay?” says Hisui, holding out a hand to help her up. “It’s not like you to lose focus while we’re practicing.”

“I’m fine,” says Setsuna, ignoring his hand and lurching back to her feet. 

-v-

They’re sent to the forest to gather more herbs.

Setsuna says nothing, offers nothing, barely replies when Hisui tries to talk. 

-v-

“You're not eating well,” says Kaede.

Setsuna nods, forces down food. She’ll retch it up later in the silence of the woods.

-v-

Sometimes she wishes she could dream.

It's just one long day right now. 

All of it.

Hisui, the boy she killed.

Blending together.

One long, _long_ day.

-v-

"We’re going together," says Kohaku. “The three of us.” 

Setsuna blinks up at him through the fog. She’s been going through the motions for days now, practicing drills with her naginata, fighting with Hisui, gathering herbs, wandering beneath the moonlight, a seemingly endless cycle that grows ever-more-tedious. 

She tries to pay attention as Kohaku describes the lizard demon that's been attacking a village half a day to the west. “It’ll be a good test of your skills,” he tells them. Hisui looks excited, tense and terrified. Setsuna tries to feel something other than ennui.  _ A test _ , she thinks dully.  _ Well, at least it’s something different.  _

She still feels blank three hours later, as she stares up at the lizard that's been terrorizing the village. “Take his left,” Kohaku says, and she follows his orders, raising the naginata into an offensive as Hisui falls into position on the right. 

Perhaps she looks an easy target; perhaps it's simply chance, but the lizard darts toward her, poison dripping from his fangs. Setsuna scrambles backward then lunges, forces the naginata up toward its mouth, but somehow fails to take into account its claws. They smash into her, throwing her across the ground. The naginata goes skittering away across the rocks. 

She hears Kohaku shout.

Setsuna drops to her side, catches herself, just as the lizard lunges for her again, a crazed light in his eyes. She meets the attack instinctively, striking through it with her claws. 

“Look out!” cries Hisui, too late. The lizard lunges for Setsuna again, and pain rips through her side as his claws meet her flesh. 

“Duck,” says Kohaku; there’s a whirring sound, the sound of a sickle being launched through the air, and the lizard demon’s down, his head cleaved clean off his shoulder; it rolls to the ground beside Setsuna, its eyes bulging. 

Setsuna stares down. A gash with jagged edges rips across her side—blood pours through a tear in her suit. 

There’s blood on the ground, on her suit, on her claws from where she slashed the demon. 

_ So much blood. _

Hisui hurries over, his face horrified. There's a gash on his cheek, bleeding sluggishly. He reaches toward her, holds out his hand—

Her eyes dart from her claws to his cheek; his face wavers, and for a moment it's not Hisui she sees but the other boy, the village boy, his eyes wide with the shadow of death—

"No!" 

Setsuna lurches to her feet and scrambles backward, smearing blood across the rocks.

Without thinking, she bolts into the forest. 

-v-

Setsuna runs. 

Last time she bolted, it was to outrun her demon side. This time, she runs to escape the images swirling behind her eyes, scenes of blood and wrath and ruin.

How long does she have? She doesn’t dare look at her hands to see if they’ve changed (and they’re so condensed with blood she couldn’t tell anyway). Each time she stumbles, she wonders if her demon side’s catching up to her. If this will be the moment that Miroku’s seal will fail, if she’ll transform and stalk back to the village.

Setsuna clutches her side. Her feet slow; she forces them onward. She cannot go back. 

Her wound throbs. It was all right for the first half-mile, but she’s starting to see spots. She digs her hand into her side, biting her lip, fighting hard not to cry. 

She cannot go back, she  _ cannot  _ go back. It’s for the best; it’s not like she’ll be  _ missed _ in the village, not like anyone would care what happened to the resident hanyou who kept to herself—and it’s not safe,  _ she’s _ a danger, she’ll never be—

Behind her, someone coughs. 

“That wound needs seeing to.”

Setsuna stiffens, muscles tensing, instincts screaming to run. She’s barely halfway across the clearing when she collides with something solid, a wall of pure energy, that makes her draw back with a wince.

“Sorry,” says Kohaku, sounding unrepentant. He’s alone; Hisui isn’t with him, not that Setsuna can see at least. He holds up a sutra; Setsuna realizes he just tore it in half, and now they’re both surrounded by some kind of shimmering protective barrier. 

“Kaede gave these to me,” says Kohaku. “Barrier spells, not very long-lasting, but it’s amazing how often they’ve come in handy. I’ll lift the barrier— _ if _ you’ll explain to me where you’re going and why.”

“Where’s Hisui?”

“Back at the village. I left him in the care of the village healer. Which is where _you_ should be.”

He looks at her severely.

Setsuna turns away. “I’ll be fine,” she says. "I’m a half-demon.”

“Hmm.” To her surprise, Kohaku sits down on a log and gestures for her to join him. Setsuna doesn’t want to— _I might kill him_ —but her vision’s blurring dangerously; she  _ has  _ lost a lot of blood. She glances at her wrists, still bare of purple marks, and then gingerly takes a seat, as far from Kohaku as she can manage without falling off the log.

“I have to leave,” she says.

“Why?”

Setsuna stares at her claws. They’re still hers—still comfortably sharp, but devoid of green poison. Some of the blood is beginning to flake; she rubs it on the log. Threads of sunlight splay down through the trees; the high call of a hazel grouse wafts by them on the breeze. Her side is sticky with blood. “It’s… not important,” she says. 

“Is it one of the taiyija in the village?” says Kohaku. “Has anyone mistreated you?”

“No. Nothing like that.”

“I see,” says Kohaku, eyeing her keenly. “Then does this have something to do with what happened before you came to the village?”

Setsuna tenses, her claws gouging marks in the log. The silence stretches—

“Tell you what,” says Kohaku. “Seeing as how I can’t stop you from going, since you seem so set on it… will you let me see to your wound at least? That can’t be comfortable.” 

She hesitates—but if she was going to attack, it would surely have happened, wouldn’t it? She’s felt dizzy for a little while now. And Kohaku’s a skilled demon hunter, he’s been slaying demons for years, surely he wouldn’t let her kill him by mistake, surely he would kill her first. Or put her behind another one of those barrier things. Setsuna nods. Kohaku reaches into his pack, pulls out a bandage. 

“Are you sure,” says Kohaku as he works, “everyone’s treated you well in the village? They’ve seen hanyou before, but that doesn’t mean everyone will behave.”

Setsuna thinks about the stares, the pointing, the whispering. “Hisui and you and Kaede have been very kind,” she says. 

“Hmm.” Kohaku pulls out another bandage, tears it with his fingers, hands it to her. “Pass this around your waist, three times. There you go. The others in the village will warm up to you, you know. Sometimes it takes time.” 

“They will not warm up to me. Because I am leaving.”

“Of course you are. My apologies for forgetting.”

He works in silence for a moment.

“You know…” He pins the bandage in place. “The taijiya village wasn’t the first demon hunter village.”

“There’s another one?” says Setsuna. Perhaps she can go there—but no, she would just hurt those people; they won’t be safe from her either.

“There  _ was  _ another one.” Kohaku pins the bandage in place and starts on the gash on her arm, seeming utterly focused on his work, but she thinks there’s a bit of sadness in his voice. “Did you ever hear the story of a demon called Naraku?” 

The name rings a bell. She thinks he heard Hisui say it in passing, but never attached much meaning to it.

"He terrorized the countryside for years in search of the Shikon jewel. When I was twelve, he possessed me. Under his control, I helped kill the first village of demon hunters. Down to my very own father. Only my sister survived." Kohaku wraps the bandage around her arm—once, twice. "And it wasn't just them," he says quietly. "I killed others for him, for a very long time."

Setsuna swallows. Her vision is less blurry; her hanyou blood must be working to repair the wounds. Already the wounds hurt less, and the bandages have stopped the bleeding. She tries to imagine what it would have been like to kill everyone in the place that you came from. It’s hard, because she’s still Setsuna of nowhere, of nothing. But she imagines it would be horribly sad. Sadder even than killing a village of people she doesn’t know. A nameless boy.

Fighting the urge to shiver, she turns back to Kohaku, who is putting the unused bandages back in his pack. 

"This Naraku. He... possessed you?"

"He used me, yes,” says Kohaku. “But it was my weapon that killed them."

She has a sudden image of a much younger Kohaku, blood smearing his face, riding around at the bidding of a faceless half demon. Terrified. Uncertain. Her mental picture looks oddly like Hisui. 

The thought makes her squirm.

“For the longest time afterward, I thought my remaining family—my sister—must secretly hate me. Thought I might be better off dead. Or at least far away. Far from my sister, because I might end up hurting her again.”

“Did you?” The words are out before Setsuna remembers she shouldn’t be listening, that she should at least try to pretend not to care.

Kohaku smiles, shakes his head. “For a long time, I feared myself, so I stayed away. I traveled with Lord Sesshomaru, one of the most powerful youkai in Japan, because I knew that if I got possessed again, he wouldn’t hesitate to do what needed to be done.”

“This powerful youkai let you go with him?” Something brushes at the edges of Setsuna’s consciousness—a thought perhaps, a memory—but even as she tries to chase it, it flits away again. She frowns.  _ If a powerful demon _ —(she’s already forgotten his name)— _ if he let Kohaku travel with him, then Kohaku must be very strong.  _

It is  _ not  _ what she tried to think originally—but, Setsuna decides, it is probably true.

Kohaku’s watching her, an odd mixture of puzzlement and nostalgia on his features. “I traveled with the youkai for some time,” he says finally. “And then Naraku was defeated. But even after Naraku was gone, I stayed away from my family. I wandered all over, made up excuses for why I couldn’t be in the village where my sister Sango was staying. Eventually, she got fed up and tracked me down. She and her husband dragged me back and made me realize how stupid I’d been. Naraku was gone. The chances of my getting possessed again and killing them were slim to none. And my sister and her friends were seasoned fighters, strong enough to protect me from myself. I was stronger too.

“They also told me that it wasn’t my fault. That none of the deaths were my fault. That I was thirteen when it happened, barely more than a boy. It was foolish to blame myself for things beyond my control.”

Setsuna flexes her claws. 

“I should go,” she says stiffly. “Thank you for healing me.”

“Setsuna.” Kohaku frowns. “Do you think we’re not strong enough to keep you from hurting us? That Miroku’s seal will fail?”

Setsuna glances up; the barrier has faded. She should go, leave now before he can find some way to convince her to stay. 

But.

“What if I hurt Hisui,” she says.

“What if I get possessed and kill everyone?” Kohaku counters. “What if a stray demon is a little too fast one day and takes all of us out? Demon slaying is a risky business, I won’t say it’s not, but Hisui knew what he was getting into. His entire family are demon slayers, and his mother is a better exterminator than I am.”

Setsuna eyes at the fading barrier. For the first time that day, a trickle of hope flutters in her chest. She remembers seeing Kohaku fight the demon earlier; there’s no doubt about it, he  _ is  _ strong… and Hisui didn’t fight too badly either. He survived the lizard demon, at least. And the demon marks still haven’t appeared on her wrists… 

“If you’re that worried, Kaede can even make a necklace that would subdue you,” says Kohaku. “I’d prefer not,though; it had rather… violent effects on the wearer the last time I saw it in action.”

She ignores the slight twitch of his lips as he says this—some inside joke she does not understand. She’s still studying her claws, every inch of her wrists, thinking back to that moment in the forest with the bear demon. 

_ Miroku’s seal worked this time. And if Kaede is powerful enough to make a necklace to subdue me, she can seal me again. _

_ It’ll be safe at least until I’m fully healed. I’m weak after my injury, and Miroku’s seal can’t wear off that fast _ — _ can it? _

She stands up from the log. Her head, to her relief, isn’t swimming. Her thoughts, for the first time in a few days, are clear.

“I’ll come back with you to the village,” she says.

“You will?”

“At least for now.”

“Good.”

She shoots him a blank look, nonplussed by the smile that lights his face. She’s practically a stranger to him still. He can’t be this happy that she’s returning, can he? Or perhaps he really is that happy. There’s a lot about the people of this village that she still can’t understand. 

“You know,” says Kohaku, his lips twitching as they fall into step, back toward the village, the way they just came, “You rather remind me of someone I once knew.” He glances at her. “I think you’ll make a fine demon slayer someday. If that’s what you choose to become.” 

“What else would I choose?”

“I’m sure you’ll have many options,” he says cryptically. 

Setsuna is about to ask what he means, but before she can open her mouth, Hisui hurries up to them, looking panicked. He stares at her, taking in the bandages wrapped around her waist with a look of such terror, Setsuna feels almost bewildered. 

“Setsuna,” he says. ‘Setsuna--are you--”

“She’s fine,” Kohaku says, glancing at her. She nods; she’s halfway healed already.

Relief blooms on Hisui’s face; his hands, Setsuna notices, are shaking. “I was afraid.” His voice quivers. “Afraid... you might be hurt because of me. Because one of my strikes missed the demon, which gave it enough time to attack you. I don’t know what I would have done if it actually...” He trails off.

_ Oh. _ Setsuna glances at the remains of the lizard demon. In the heat of battle, she hadn’t even noticed Hisui’s error. 

“We were all afraid, it seems,” Kohaku says wryly. “Very normal for a first mission. It’ll be better the next time, I swear. Now—assuming you’re both well enough to travel—let’s get back to the village. Hopefully Kaede will have a hot meal waiting for us when we get back.”

Kohaku and Hisui walk ahead; Setsuna keeps pace behind them. She hasn’t been walking long when, to her surprise, Hisui falls into step beside her. He’s got a sack of rice slung over a shoulder, their payment from the villagers, but she doesn’t think exhaustion is what made him fall behind.

“You’re  _ really  _ not hurt?” he says. “I mean, not seriously?”

“I’m a hanyou.” She frowns. “And you did nothing wrong. Even if it had killed me, it would have been the lizard demon’s fault and not y—”

She breaks off. 

“Tell you what,” she says lightly. “Do you want me to carry that sack of rice? I’ll prove to you how uninjured I am.”

“Ugh, no. That’ll make me feel even worse than I already… Hang on! You’re talking to me again.” 

“Hn.”

“I thought you were mad or something, I thought you’d never— _ Hey! _ I told you I can carry the rice!”

_ Yes,  _ Setsuna thinks, humming under her breath as she races Hisui’s reach,  _ maybe, just maybe, things will work out after all.  _

-v-

* Did anyone else notice that Kohaku now has a scar across his nose? Or just me because I was stalking the wiki obsessively while writing this? Where do you think that came from?

** I’m guessing the dream butterfly, and whatever magic it’s doing to Setsuna, may be part of why she doesn’t seem very interested in learning about her past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took a bit longer to finish than I expected. Hopefully it ended up being an enjoyable read :) Kudos and comments much appreciated.

**Author's Note:**

> Part 2 will be posted later this weekend. It was getting a bit long for one chapter. As always, kudos/comments appreciated :)


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